´óÏó´«Ã½

This is a story that my wife knew from her mother and father Nellie and Bertie Sykes long before I met her. Herbert ("Bertie") Sykes, born in 1902, was just young enough to be called up, and he spent the rest of the war as a member of R.A.F. ground crew repairing and servicing aircraft. He was from Slaithwaite, near Huddersfield, but was stationed at various times at Wappenham and at Desborough, both in Northamptonshire. He and Nellie had rented their own house on the other side of Manchester Road after they were married in 1937 but soon after the outbreak of war they had left it and moved in to live with his recently widowed mother in her house in Union Street in Hill Top, Slaithwaite.
When Nellie gave birth to her son (my wife’s brother), it was in that house. Someone got a message (a telegram, perhaps) to the R.A.F. station where Bertie was serving. Nellie expected he would simply receive the good news and carry on, but his commanding officer promptly gave him a couple of days’ immediate leave, a rail warrant, and half a crown for the baby. None of the family had a telephone, and rather than send a telegram in his turn, he simply went to the railway station and headed home.
Even after I knew him he would reminisce about his unexpected return home, and I remember some of these details myself from his account, but neither my wife nor I can remember whether he was stationed at Wappenham or at Desborough at the time. All I can say is that when I knew him, he would tell me, in general terms, that he would catch the train either at Brackley, which provided a direct service to Sheffield Victoria, or at Desborough & Rothwell, from which he could reach Sheffield Midland. In Sheffield he could get a train to Huddersfield, but if he arrived late at night he had to walk home from there — five miles, and up hill all the way.
Wartime trains rarely ran on time, and in the end, on the occasion I am describing here, Bertie got to Huddersfield in the early hours, with the five-mile walk still ahead of him. It was the only time he arrived home completely unexpectedly, and by the time he got there, they were all asleep. He could make no one hear, so he resorted to the corny old trick of throwing stones at the bedroom window. Not wishing to wake his mother, however, he threw them at his own bedroom window, where of course his wife and the baby were sleeping - and remember, that was in the days when women were confined for some time after giving birth and should not have been up and about according to the prevailing wisdom. He had to throw bigger and bigger ones before she heard him, but sure enough, he at last gained admittance. A few months after his return to Wappenham or Desborough he had a serious accident and had to be hospitalised, but that is another story.

© Copyright of content contributed to this Archive rests with the author. Find out how you can use this.